In Our Weakness
by grandprincesscromwell
Summary: Caleb Prior and Peter Hayes both have their share of demons. Maybe it's not the only thing they have in common.
1. Chapter 1: Caleb

I'm more tired than I can ever remember being. The sun is beating down on my neck, and my shoulders are aching and I feel ashamed of my weakness. All around me, cheerful Amity are filling baskets with vegetables, laughing, singing, enjoying the sunshine and each other's company. Two rows over, Beatrice and Four are working as a team. They pause to smile and kiss each other. I look away. It's so easy for them (even for my sister, so slight) to use their bodies in this way. It makes me wish there had been any kind of physical component to my initiation. There's nothing in my brain that helps make this hot, dirty work any easier.

An Amity girl comes by to bring me a new, empty basket. When she sees how little I've accomplished, she tries to pretend she's squinting because of the sun. I crouch down again, turn my face away and sink my hands into the earth. Why did I always assume that soil was soft and felt good on your hands? My hands are scraped and raw. I'm sure my nails are peeling back. I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes. _You're so weak, Caleb._ I drag my filthy forearm across my face to stop the tears.

A shadow descends over me, as though the sun has disappeared behind a cloud. I look up, and I find myself staring up into the face of the boy that Beatrice shot. Peter. I look back to the ground and go still. I find it difficult to look into Peter's eyes, which I noticed when I bandaged his arm on the train. I tell myself it's an old Abnegation habit, looking down, holding my breath. I know what it really is. _Weakness_.

Peter crouches down beside me, and I shiver. I am filled with self loathing. I can actually feel him grinning at me. I don't look.  
"Need some help, stiff?"  
I shake my head. "I'm fine."  
He chuckles, then strikes the back of my hand with a short stick.  
"Ouch, I..."  
"That didn't hurt" he says firmly. "I didn't hurt you". He reaches down and takes my hand in his. I shiver again, and I try not to show it, but I know that he knows. He puts the stick in my open palm and slowly closes my fingers around it. For a moment, I am only the sensation of his calloused palm pressed against the back of my fingers. Is it my imagination, or does he linger for a half-second, holding my closed fist?  
"If you use your hands to dig, you're going to tear up your hands." He smiles as he lets go of my hand. "You'd think an Erudite like yourself would have thought to use a tool to make things easier."

I can feel heat in my cheeks and I hope it looks like a sunburn. Peter stands and walks away. I'm instantly aware of the heat of the sun. I wish that he was still here, his broad shoulders providing a patch of shade just large enough for me to hide in. Even alone in my head, I am embarrassed by this and I feel my blush deepen and spread down my neck and chest. I look down at the ground, and plunge Peter's stick into the soil to loosen it. He's right, it's much easier this way. _Great, apparently I'm stupid, too._

The cloud covers the sun again, the heat on the back of my neck disappears. Peter crouches down beside me, with a stick of his own. He digs in the dirt next to me. He doesn't speak. I look at him for a moment, then turn back to my work. In silence, we dig. A couple of times our hands are in the basket at the same time and I have this urge to reach out the extra inch and brush his fingers with my own. I picture it happening, our hands touching, our eyes meeting, him leaning over the basket to punch me in the face. I don't touch his hand.

I hear the sound of crunching dirt and there are a pair of feet standing near my hand. I look up to find Beatrice, glaring down at Peter.  
"Why are you bothering my brother?"  
Peter grins and squints up at her. "I don't think I'm bothering anybody"  
He looks over at me "Am I?"  
I shake my head.  
"Peter" says Beatrice, venom in her tone. "You need to leave Caleb alone or we will have a problem". I see that Four has walked up behind her, though whether he's there to restrain her or back her play, I can't tell.  
"Beatrice, he isn't bothering me." I smile weakly up at her "He's helping".  
Beatrice snorts. "Peter being helpful, that's new".  
Four steps towards her and lays a hand on her shoulder. "Tris, let it go. He's not hurting anything".  
"Yeah, Tris. I know you're busy enjoying the sunshine with your boyfriend, but someone has to help poor Caleb. He's really struggling." I'm blushing furiously again, and I know everyone can see it. "Look, I think he has heatstroke."  
I turn my head to the ground and start to dig again. "Beatrice, I'm fine."  
I can feel her standing there still, staring at the top of my head. Eventually she moves away.

Peter has stopped digging but I don't look at him. "Caleb" he says. My heart skips a beat. I look up at him. He's rolling down the sleeve of his shirt, not looking at me. He kneels next to the basket, then reaches across and takes my chin in his hand. "You've got dirt on your face". He wipes the back of his hand across my cheek, then his thumb. The skin on his hands is rough. He leans back onto his heels, picks up the nearly full basket and stands. "Keep digging, stiff. There's always another basket to fill." He walks away.


	2. Chapter 2: Peter

The water in the Amity showers is cold by the time I get there. Fucking cold. Maybe it's always cold. Maybe the peace loving freaks enjoy taking cold showers. I do not enjoy taking cold showers and the icy water is making my already sore muscles even tighter. _It will probably feel good on Caleb's sunburn though_. Where did that come from? Why is Caleb's sunburn popping into my head, or his name, for that matter? When did I stop calling him "stiff" and start calling him by name? _But you know the answer to that_. And I do. I remember looking across the basket at him as he dug in the dirt, his shirt too big and hanging open, a deep flush spreading down his chest. I see the big smudge of dirt on his cheek. I say his name, and I look in his eyes, and I touch his face. I'm a little startled by the intensity of the memory.

I want to say his name again. "Caleb" I say, to the empty bathroom.

"Um...Yes?" comes the answer from directly behind me.

I twist around, wrenching my back. I try not to wince but I feel like he catches me. He's standing there, fully clothed, wringing a towel in his hands. I didn't hear him come in. How long has he been standing there? I turn back into the frigid spray. "Did you just come in to watch, Stiff?"

He is silent. I glance over my shoulder and see that his 'sunburn' is darkening. He hasn't moved from the doorway. I turn the shower off and step out. I watch his eyes dart away to avoid seeing me as I dry my hair. I decide to have mercy on him, wrap my towel around my waist. "Your sister has a thing about nudity too". I walk towards him, bringing my body very close to him in the doorway. He stands his ground, for a moment. I'm impressed.

"It's hard to shake the culture you were brought up in" he says as he darts around me and walks toward the shower. "Abnegation definitely errs on the side of modesty". He hesitates, as he gets to the shower and realizes I'm still standing in the doorway, watching him. He stares me down. It almost feels like an accident, but he commits to it. After a moment, he tugs his shirt off over his head. _Wow, he's beautiful._ I can feel a knot tightening in my abdomen. He's long and lean, muscles small but visible on his thin frame, and his skin looks like it would be soft and warm to the touch. Above his trousers, there is a gentle curl of golden hair-

"Peter" he says and I feel a hard tug on the knot in my abdomen. If he has ever said my name before, I don't remember it.

I look into his eyes. "I wanted to thank you for your help today". I nod, voiceless. "I really..." He's twisting the towel again. "I'm very grateful. I'm sorry Beatrice was so..."  
"Don't worry about it. She hates me. That's not news."  
"Well, I'm sorry anyway."  
"If you make apologizing for your sister your responsibility, you'll never have time for anything else."  
"I'm sure she doesn't hate you"  
"She does. And she has her reasons. I'm surprised she hasn't told you."  
"Hatred isn't something we're taught in Abnegation"  
I laugh. "Hatred isn't something that can be taught."

He turns away from me, and I stand watching his back. He turns the shower on, sticks his hand under it. "Ugh, it's cold!"  
"Don't blame me, it was cold when I got here."  
He turns around, looks at me for another long moment, silent.  
"I wasn't going to blame you Peter."

He starts to unbutton his trousers and I force myself to turn and leave the bathroom. I think I walk back to my room without breathing but I can't remember. In my head, I hear him say my name over and over again. I lay facedown on the bed and think how much more I like my name when he says it. I try not to wonder what the icy water looks like as it streams across his smooth, soft skin.


	3. Chapter 3: Caleb

I wake up before the sun now. In Erudite, even in Abnegation, I sometimes slept whole mornings away. My father would reprimand me, saying how indulgent it was to waste time that could be better spent on a million different things. I think of him when I wake every morning at an hour I barely recognize. He would be glad to know that I am awake. I try to find comfort in this, but I don't have much success. The first few days here, I would lie in bed, trying to force myself back to sleep for hours, until it was time to get up for breakfast. I know better now. Something significant has changed, and I am now a person who wakes up before dawn.

So I climb out of bed and dress in the dark, in bright, soft Amity clothes that don't fit me. My shirt is too big, my trousers somehow too loose and too short. The fabric is soft and formless, not like the tailored clothes I wore in Erudite. I surprise myself with my vanity. There is no reason for me to care about the way these clothes fit me, or how I look in them. _I can think of one reason_. I push the thought out of my head.

I leave the dorm and walk out into the still morning air. I'm not the only person awake. Around me, in the pre-dawn darkness, people are preparing for the day, tending livestock or heading out to the orchards. The lights are on in the kitchen, where breakfast is already being served. Despite all this movement, there is almost no noise. Thanks to the quiet, I can hear someone walking up behind me. I don't turn around, but I know it isn't my sister. The footsteps are heavier, a man's slow gait. I catch myself hoping that it's Peter, then I push that thought away and stare into the distance, watching the vague shapes of people moving into the fields.

"It's not a bad time to be awake"

My heart sinks, and I turn to look at Four. "It's very calm".

He looks at me, then off into the distance. We stand in silence for a few moments, as the sun starts to rise over the hills.

"I've never been good at sleeping in. Marcus didn't allow it."

"My father used to reprimand me for sleeping in as well, but it never stopped me."

Four looks at me, brow furrowed. "There's a big difference between your father and mine."

"Of course." I look at the ground. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am." he hesitates "You must miss him."

 _Well this is bizarre._ Why is Four talking to me? This is the longest conversation I've had with my sister's boyfriend, and he seems deeply uncomfortable. Then it hits me.

"Did Beatrice ask you to check on me?" Four isn't the kind of person who demonstrates his awkwardness physically. He stares into my eyes, stone-faced. "You should start calling her Tris. It's the name she chose." he looks back out towards the sun, now coming up in earnest. "And yes. She wanted me to see-"

"Why doesn't she talk to me herself?"

He's not used to being interrupted. "I don't think she's ready to talk about it."

"Neither am I."

He nods his head, starts to walk away. After a few steps, he turns back. "You should be careful around Peter."

My stomach tightens. "He's been perfectly nice to me."

Four snorts. _That seems unnecessary. "_ Peter isn't a good person, Caleb. You can do what you want, but for Tris's sake, I'm warning you." He starts to walk away again.

There's a part of me that wants to stop him, argue with him, tell him how kind Peter has been to me. There's a bigger part of me that realizes that I don't know what I'm talking about and that Peter handing me a stick and wiping dirt off of my face does not constitute a friendship, and that I don't know the first thing about him, not really. I know how broad his shoulders are, and the way the muscles of his back knit together, and the shape of the patch of hair on his chest. I wonder how much my knowledge of those things is coloring my feeling that Peter is a kind person, a friend.

Four calls back to me. "Are you coming to breakfast?"

I follow my sister's boyfriend down to the dome, trying to banish the memory of watching Peter in the shower. Four doesn't stop walking, so he's about ten yards ahead of me when Tris comes out of the dorm. She walks to him without even looking at me. I wonder if it's only that she's not ready to talk to me, to talk about our parents, to talk about all that's happened. I think there's something more. I know she was angry at me when she came to see me at Erudite, and maybe there's a part of her that blames me for what my faction did. I know there is a part of me that blames her for what happened to our mother and father.

I follow them into the dome, into the line for food, over to the table. This is my life now. I wake up before dawn, I wear a stranger's clothing and don't speak to my own sister. Instead, I follow dangerous boys into bathrooms and lie awake thinking about them, I have no parents and no faction. I am a complete stranger to myself.

I sit with Four and Beatrice, _Tris_ I remind myself. _She wants to be called Tris now._ Maybe she feels like a stranger too. I eat quietly and stare at my food. I jump a little when a tray slams down on the table across from me.

I look up into Peter's eyes and he holds my gaze as he sits. "Morning, stiffs 1, 2 and 3." He smiles broadly and digs into his eggs. Four and Tris are making faces at each other. After a moment of silence, Four speaks up. "You're eating with us now, Peter?" Tris is glaring daggers. He looks up at them, eyes wide. "I hope that's okay, _number one."_ He winks at Four. Tris reaches across the table and touches Four's arm. After a moment's hesitation, he turns away from Peter. They look at each other and both rise from the table.

Four pauses before he walks away and looks down at me. "You're alright, Caleb?"

"Sure, number two is fine. Right number two?" Peter smiles broadly at me. I look down at my plate. "I'm fine." I don't look up, but I can feel Four and Peter staring each other down. Finally, Four and Tris move away from the table.

"Are you disappointed?"

I look up at him, and he's staring and smirking. This is the Peter he is in front of Four and Beatrice. I don't like it. "Disappointed?"

"That you aren't stiff number one."

I shake my head and lay my silverware down on the tray. As I stand, Peter speaks again, more quietly. "I so enjoyed _seeing_ you last night, Caleb."

I freeze, unsure. I know I should walk away, but the instincts that have guided me my whole life have eroded quickly and entirely. Abnegation Caleb turns away, eyes to the ground. Erudite Caleb stays silent and recognizes Peter's motives and the danger inherent in engaging with him. But I am neither of these people. I am factionless and strange and new.

I stand my ground. I raise my eyes to Peter's and stare him down. "Me too. We should do it again soon." My heart is pounding. He stops chewing and the smirk disappears from his face. I find the effect I'm having on him strangely satisfying. "Next time you should stick around a little longer." His mouth falls open, and I turn and walk away. I'm fighting nausea and hysterical laughter in equal measure, and my chest feels full of air, ready to burst. I'm a new man.


	4. Chapter 4: Peter

I'm in shock at the breakfast table. "Next time you should stick around a little longer." I watch Caleb as a he walks away, my mouth hanging open. The knot in my stomach is back and I think about how I lay awake last night, imagining what would have happened if I hadn't turned and walked away, if I had stayed to see his long, thin legs under the shapeless trousers, watched him standing naked under the cold spray, what would have happened if I had joined him, whether it would have been his long fingers, instead of my own that slid up and down my cock, whether it would have been his shoulder, rather than my own fist, that I bit into to keep from calling out.

And now I'm hard at the breakfast table. This is not my best morning. I look down at the cold, watery eggs on my plate, try to think of something that isn't the smooth, taut skin of Caleb's stomach.

Caleb still hasn't quite left the dome. He's taller then everyone else by several inches and he's easy to spot. The knot in my stomach is on fire. I'm not going to spend another night lying awake wondering what the stiff thinks of me.

I leave my tray on the table and push through the crowd lining up for breakfast. As when I do anything that comes naturally to me, there are murmurs of surprise and frustration. I don't care. I try to keep Caleb in my sightline but I don't catch up with him until we're almost back to the dorms. He's passing a storage shed, and he doesn't know I'm behind him, but something makes him turn.

Before he can turn his head all the way around to look at me, I reach for him. I grab him by the shirt and push him through the door to the storage shed. "Peter?" I can hear the fear in his voice and I hate it. I turn away from him and close the door to the shed. Inside, it's dim and cool, and it smells like earth and rust. My eyes pan over a rack of tools as I adjust to the dim light. I look back at Caleb, his back to the wall. "Peter, please." There's an actual tremor in his voice. He's terrified.

"What do you think is going to happen?"  
He looks at me. "I don't know. Four told me-"  
"Four told you what?" I can hear the way my voice sounds, like a bark, like a warning. My mind is racing though all of the horrible things that Four could have told Caleb, all the things I've done, the kind of person that I truly am, laid bare. I can't stand to look into Caleb's eyes, so I stare at the ground. Caleb is a good person. He's smart and beautiful and his sister loves him. She would never let something like me happen to him. I'm someone capable of maiming rivals and brutalizing the weak and attempted murder. Those kinds of things are outside of Caleb's experience, and that's how they should stay.

"He didn't tell me anything." Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see that he reaches for me, but his arm drops before I can turn to see it properly. Maybe I imagined it. "What happened between you? Why are they so suspicious of you?"  
I laugh. "Suspicious? Is that you trying to appease me or refusing to believe that your sister is capable of hatred?"  
"I don't know if I'm an authority on what Beatrice is capable of. And I don't think she or Four are authorities on what you are capable of."  
I look at him, and there is such gentleness in his eyes. I want to bask in this, in his acceptance. But he doesn't know what he's accepting, what he's forgiving me for. I can't keep him in the dark.

"I tried to kill her. Your sister." I don't try to hold his gaze. I don't want to watch the tenderness disappearing from his expression. "Four caught me, and he stopped me."

I curl my hands into fists to keep them from trembling. "So I guess they have some authority, after all." My throat is so dry. I didn't realize how much I had riding on this, on Caleb's approval of me, on his kindness and his friendship.

I force myself to look into his eyes. They're filled with tears. Beyond that I can't tell. Is it Pity? Confusion? Anger? There's nothing there I want to see. "I'm sorry Caleb-" my voice catches in my throat and I am filled with self loathing. I want to scream and hit things. I want to fight with someone. I want to break someone's nose. I have a very specific image of Four's nose cracking under my fist. I can imagine his blood on my knuckles. I can't do any of these things, so I cough to clear my throat. "I didn't mean to scare you". I unclench my trembling hands, open the door to the shed, and I leave Caleb behind, walk out into the blinding sunlight.


	5. Chapter 5: Caleb

_I can't believe I just did that. I can't believe I just did that. I can't believe I just did that!_ I just flirted with Peter. Flirted! Me. I feel like a balloon as I leave the dome, the image of his slack jaw glowing behind my eyelids. There are crowds of people coming into the dome for breakfast and I weave in between them, my chin and eyes lifted for once. I am careful not to hurry, and I don't look back. I wonder if he is watching me walk away. I think he is. I giggle. I feel like an absolute idiot. I'm holding my breath and letting it out in little snorts of laughter. I keep walking up the hill to the dorms. I'm not sure where I'm going, my head feels like it's filled with mist and light, like the sun rising through a thick fog. This is the happiest I've been since my parents died. I feel a hot spike of shame pass through me when I think of my parents. My parents' death and my current state of buoyant emotion do not exist comfortably together in my mind. I wonder whether Peter is still sitting at the table, mouth hanging open. _I wonder if he followed me out._

I start to turn to look back at the dome, see if I can spot Peter in the crowd of Amity gathering to eat breakfast, but before I can get my head all the way around, someone strong has grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me through the door of a storage shed. I'm too shocked to call out. I am plunged into the earthy-smelling darkness and my back hits the wall. Not too hard, but I'm in a state of shock. It's Peter, and he looks angry. Does he always look angry? Suddenly I can't remember. "Peter?" I say weakly. He turns away from me and closes the door behind us. My heart is pounding in my ears. I know logically that he can't hear it, but it sounds like a cannon. Why did he bring me in here? I see him looking at a rack of strange, sharp farming tools and a shiver runs through my body as I think of Four this morning. _"Peter isn't a good person."_

 _"_ Peter please." I hear my voice quaver and I feel ashamed. Peter has been kind to me, I have no reason to distrust him. He didn't bring me in here to hurt me. I am not afraid of Peter. But now he must think I am. _It doesn't matter. He already knows how weak you are._

He's looking at me again. "What do you think is going to happen?"

I want to apologize to him for my fear. I want to tell him that I trust him, that I don't care what Four or 'Tris' think of him. "I don't know. Four told me-"

His face turns to stone. "Four told you what?"

I should never have brought up Four. He hates Four. I wonder what happened between them but I don't care. I want to tell Peter that but I can see how angry he is now. I've ruined this, ruined everything. "He didn't tell me anything" I say. I watch how he slumps, his head curving down toward his chest. He's even more alone than I am. I want so badly to touch him, to touch his face, the way he touched mine. I lift my arm, but then I see his eyes again, filled with anger. I lower my hand before he sees. "What happened between you? Why are they so suspicious of you?"

He laughs, a short, harsh bark of a laugh, and shakes his head. "Suspicious? Is that you trying to appease me or refusing to believe that your sister is capable of hatred?"

He won't look at me. I want him to look at me, to see how sorry I am for my weakness, for my fear. I want to apologize to him and tell him how alone I am all the time except when I am with him. I want him to know how I feel. _I don't even know how I feel._ "I don't know if I'm an authority on what Beatrice is capable of. And I don't think she or Four are authorities on what you are capable of."

He looks at me, finally, for a long moment. I can't speak. His eyes are huge and dark, full of regret and pain. The anger is totally gone from them. There is an instant where I think I am going to step forward, because that's all it would take, one step and then I would be close enough to wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him close to me. I'm going to do it, for a moment, for a heartbeat. Then-

"I tried to kill her. Your sister." He drops his eyes back to the floor. His hands are trembling. "Four caught me, and he stopped me." His eyes are glued to the ground, and he's curling his hands into fists, locking his knees. "So I guess they have some authority, after all."

He's bracing himself, his fists and taut muscles, to keep from shaking, but his whole body is trembling. I want to hold him. I wish he hadn't said it. I don't know how to process what he has told me but I know it doesn't stop me from wishing I was holding his face in my hands. Does that make me a despicable person? Wanting to touch my sister's would-be killer?

He raises his eyes to mine, and they're filled with fear and grief. "I'm sorry Caleb-". His voice catches. He coughs weakly. "I didn't mean to scare you." He turns away and crashes through the door to the shed, leaving it swinging open behind him. There are tears burning my eyes and once he is gone, I let them fall, sinking to the ground. I weep for my parents, who I will never see again, for the stranger my sister has become, for myself, lost somewhere along the path of all the terrible choices I've made. I weep for the weakness that will starve me of any happiness, and the fear that fills the world I never wanted and I weep for Peter, who will never love the weak, scared person that I am, who is so alone himself, who will not believe that I forgive him, even though it is true.


	6. Chapter 6: Peter

I'm sitting at the base of a tree, hiding from whatever farm chore I'm supposed to be performing. I've been here for hours, trying to banish the image of Caleb's eyes swimming with tears. I grind my knuckles into the ground, grit my teeth and stare ahead. I want these feelings to disappear.

Behind me, I hear a rustling in the trees. I draw my knees in close to my chest and press my shoulders to the trunk of the tree. I have broader shoulders now, but as a child, I was always good at hiding. Maybe it's the only thing I've kept hold of. The rustling continues, getting louder and closer. Has someone come to reprimand me for skipping out on work? I hope they have. I curl my hands into fists. I'm going to beat the sense out of whatever poor, sweet Amity resident they've sent to collect me. Now I can feel the sickening rush of adrenaline pouring into my stomach and my chest. I wait until the footsteps are just on the other side of the tree, then stand and turn.

From there, it's mostly instinct. One swift strike to the jaw and the kid is on the ground. I follow him down. I would kick him, but I want to hurt him with my hands. _There's no point in pretending I'm not a monster._ This kid is weak. He should at least try to fight back. He's weak but he's tall, taller than me. Tall and thin. _Oh God, no._ It's Caleb. Caleb is curled on the ground, bleeding. I'm beating Caleb.

It takes him a moment, after I stop hitting him, to uncurl and look up at me. _Fuck._ There's already a bruise blooming on his jaw. _Fuck._ I'm speechless. I wish I could burrow into the earth. Maybe I should keep hitting him. Maybe I should hit him until he can't stand up and then go to Tris with his blood on my hands and let things take their natural course. I don't think Four will let her murder me for hitting Caleb once, but if I really hurt him, maybe she'll be mad enough to end this useless struggle once and for all.

I can't do it. I don't want to. I look down at his face and wish that I could rewind the clock. Not just to a few moments ago, before I punched him, but years. Before I met him, before I met his sister, before I transfered to Dauntless and fostered all my lesser instincts, before I became the person that I am. I want to start over, and be worthy of him. I want to start over. "I want to start over."

"Peter?" His voice is so gentle. Everything about him is so gentle.

"I want to start over." I can barely get the words out. My throat is tight. My eyes are burning. I sit back on my heels and close my eyes. I don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want to cry at all. I want to disappear. "I want to be different than I am."

I feel his hand on my cheek. His fingers are so long and the palm of his hand is so warm and soft. I hear myself sobbing, hear my heart pounding in my ears. I don't deserve this, the comfort of his hand on my face. I don't deserve his kindness, but if it stops, if he stops touching me, I am going to die. My heart will stop and I will melt into the ground. Then both his hands are on my face and I'm leaning into his chest, sobbing, struggling to breathe.

He lets me cry for a long time. He doesn't say anything. He runs his fingers through my hair and I keep thinking that I've never felt this way, and I don't deserve it. And I know I have to tell him that. I know that I have a responsibility to tell him, to make it clear to him that I'm a monster. I don't know how the kid ever ended up in Erudite, if he can't see clearly what I am, now that he knows I tried to murder his sister, and now that I've put him on the ground with my fists like the brute that I am. He should know. He doesn't know, so I have to tell him. "Caleb." I take a deep breath, and then another. "Caleb." More breathing. His fingers are still running through my hair. "Caleb." How long can we stay like this, with my face buried in his shirt, with his fingers in my hair? How long can I lay here, saying his name and nothing else? Can we stay long enough to forget ourselves and everything else? Can we stay until it's just the two of us in an empty world?

I sit up and look at his face. His jaw is swollen but his eyes are dry. He smiles at me, brushes his fingers over my cheek again. _I have to tell him the truth. "_ Caleb, I-"

"Peter, stop." He takes my hands in his and looks into my eyes.

"I don't care. I don't care what happened in Dauntless, between you and Tris and Four. I know I should but..." His lip trembles a little but he doesn't break eye contact. "I don't."

 _God he's so beautiful_. And stronger than I'd imagined. "Maybe I'm not a very good person." He smiles at me again, struggling to keep the muscles of his face under control. I know I don't deserve him. And yet, here he is, in front of me, holding my hands.

"Peter I don't care what you've done. I-" he reaches his hand towards my face but I grab it before he can touch me. I should break his fingers, or his wrist or his nose, anything to make him run away from me. Anything so he will see the truth. But I don't do any of those things. Instead, I kiss him. _I'm a monster but I'm going to feel this, once in my life. I'm going to feel what it feels like to be good and loved by someone decent._

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull his face to mine. I press my lips to his and I hear him exhale so so softly. And then I become nothing, only the momentary, infinite sensation of his lips on mine and the smell of his skin and the nearness of him, his hand on my shoulder and then curving around my neck and pulling me closer. My heart is beating so hard it hurts. He pulls back and it breaks into a hundred pieces.

I look at him, terrified. Has he realized that I'm a monster? Was there something honest in my kiss I couldn't hide from him? But as soon as our eyes meet I know that's not why. He's smiling, and then he's laughing and I'm laughing too, because it's ridiculous, that I would be sitting here, with this person. That I would be kissing him, and that he would want me to be kissing him. So we're laughing, Caleb and I, breathlessly laughing because we both tried so hard to fuck this up and still we're here, in the dirt. I'm wiping tears off my cheeks, watching Caleb slump over, gasping. It's then that I hear voices approaching us through the trees and I grab Caleb and cover his mouth, pulling him behind the tree where I was hiding before. He struggles, which is a little annoying, but I'm much stronger than him, so I pin him to my body with one arm and reach down with the other to tuck his long legs across my lap. After a moment, I feel him relax. He hears the voices too.

We sit in silence. Caleb looks tense. I imagine he's not used to getting in trouble. We are almost certainly going to get caught, but I can't even remember what worry feels like because his face is very close to mine and one of his arms is around my shoulders. He looks down at me and smiles. He starts to run his fingers through my hair again. He leans down and whispers in my ear: "You know, Peter, if you wanted me to sit on your lap, you only had to ask."

And now I remember what worry feels like. I don't know which would be worse, getting caught with Tris's brother perched on my lap or Caleb realizing the effect he is having on me. I try to shift so that his ass isn't quite so temptingly located but I don't have much success. He's grinning at me, which means he might already know. I scowl up at him. "What, stiff?" He grins even wider. " _Stiff_ indeed." He winks at me. Winks! If they don't catch us soon, I'm going to punch him again. "Peter, you're blushing." I start to grind my teeth. I hate being teased. He must sense it because he takes my face in his hands and kisses me again. Gentle. Not what I want. I grab his throat and hold him, opening his lips with mine, sliding my tongue into his mouth and pushing. He sighs again, that tiny exhalation. _God let me die with that sound in my ears._

There is another, less welcome sound from a few feet away. I had almost forgotten about the rustling and voices from the distance as I sat here in this dream, but they've caught up with us. From behind a nearby tree, someone is giggling. I feel all of the tension return to my muscles as Caleb and I separate. I'm feeling murderous when I look up and see the blonde girl leaning against a tree, watching us. She's maybe 14, wearing an obnoxious orange sundress and she's covering her mouth, giggling and staring. I wonder if she knows she only has a few moments to live. I start to slide Caleb off my lap so I can stand up and kill the nosy child, but she shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips. She smiles at Caleb and winks at me. Why is everyone suddenly so comfortable winking at me? I don't like it. She calls out in a loud voice "There's no one over here." She starts to walk back the way she came. "I think I saw something moving over by the pond, but it's hard to say." She's gone. We sit in silence for a minute, listening to the voices fade into the distance.

"Well that was lucky!" Caleb smiles as he stands, then offers me his hand. I wish I could convince him to come back down and kiss me again, but I know that's not a good idea. I take his hand and stand next to him. "It must be almost dinnertime" he says cheerfully. I look down at his swollen jaw. He follows my gaze and frowns for a moment. "I can't believe I almost knocked myself out with that water pump. Thank you _so much_ for walking me to the infirmary, Peter." He smiles broadly and I'm dizzy with gratitude and disbelief. He's still holding my hand. He turns and starts to lead me out off the woods, but before he takes a step I pull him in close to me and kiss him once more, hard and deep. Who knows when we'll have another chance?


	7. Chapter 7: Caleb

Dinner has never been so uncomfortable. Beatrice is glaring across the table at Peter. Four's stormy blue eyes are flickering darkly between her and Peter, and occasionally to the bruise on my jaw. Peter is intensely focused on his dinner. There is a space of what I judge to be 4.5 inches between my thigh and Peter's on the wooden bench. I wonder if Peter is as aware of this gap as I am. I am living in this gap. I am more aware of it than I am of my own body.

When we sat down, I told the story I had prepared about how I had received the bruise on my jaw, but it sounded lame, and I could tell neither of them believed me. They looked at each other suspiciously, and then Beatrice- _Tris, her name is Tris now_ -looked at Peter and her hands started to curl into fists. Luckily Peter, Candor-born Peter, is a much better liar than me. "Geez, Stiff, that special Amity medicine is making you even dopier than normal." And then he pressed his palm to the center of my back and helped me sit down on the bench and sat beside me and somehow we were in the clear. I didn't breathe again until Tris started eating.

Now she's eating and glaring and something about the way Four's eyes are shifting around the table make me think he doesn't suspect the random violence that Tris does, but something a little closer to the truth. I eat a little food, then announce to the table that I have a headache and stand. Peter stands as well. "I'll walk you back, stiff." He doesn't smile, but I catch his eye and I know that he's been just as anxious as I have to leave dinner.

"Actually" says Beatrice, with acid in her voice "I'd like to walk with my brother if you don't mind, Peter." There's no space in her tone for protest, so I shrug at Peter and smile weakly at my sister and together we walk out of the dome. We walk in silence for a while, and I hope that she's just walking me to the dorm because she's worried about my head. I just keep thinking about the sensation of Peter's lips on mine, his arms around me, and I can't help but feel a little resentment towards her. "You know, Tris, I can walk back on my own. I don't have a concussion or anything." I touch her shoulder to soften the statement, but she doesn't move away from me. She doesn't say anything.

"Tris?" She stops and looks at me. "When did you stop calling me Beatrice?" She looks sad, or maybe just tired. "Four told me I should call you Tris because that's the name that you picked." She nods and looks back down the hill towards the dome. I'm scared she's going to ask me about Peter. I don't think telling her I've been fooling around in the woods with the man who tried to kill her is a great idea, but I learned at dinner that I'm not a particularly good liar.

"Caleb, I'm sorry." She's not looking at me, which seems purposeful. "I know I've been distant. I'm having a hard time talking about what's happened. Even to Four." _Even to Four._ _As though it should be easier to talk to Four than her own brother._ I try not to be stung by this statement, I know it isn't meant to hurt me, and yet I can't help but feel the growing distance between us, my little sister and I, carried on the words. _Even to Four._ _"_ It isn't easy for me to talk about either, Beatrice. But you're the only family I have left." I can feel a lump rising in my throat. I don't think I realized how desperate I was to talk to her about everything that's happened. "I wish..." But the lump in my throat is growing and I can't get the words out. I cough and try to swallow it. "Sometimes I think it would have been better if we'd both stayed in Abnegation." She turns to me, tears in her eyes, but none on her face. "If we'd stayed in Abnegation, we'd both be dead."

I can feel the blood draining out of my face. She's being so cold. _When did she become this person? Was this always who she was and I just didn't see it?_ "Beatrice..." She shakes her head a little and turns away, folds her arms across her chest. "Four is right, you should call me Tris. That's my name now." She starts to walk away, back down the hill, but stops after a few steps and turns back. "Peter isn't bothering you, right?" I shake my head. My voice has fled completely, and I think I'm shaking. "Just tell me if he is, and I'll make him stop." _I wish I were stronger._ I want to defend Peter. I want to shout after her that she's wrong about him and that he's kind and good in spite of what he's done. I want to point out that she, of all people should understand that people can change immensely, but I don't. I know if I open my mouth I will collapse into tears and as hard as it is to admit to myself, I am no longer comfortable crying in front of my sister.

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. And that there is next to no interaction...more soon. Thanks for reviewing, it's helpful to me!


	8. Chapter 8: Peter

It takes basically all my strength not to turn and watch Caleb walk away. I have a feeling that I'm never going to see him again, and I know that feeling has no basis in reality but it doesn't help. My chest is aching and my stomach is twisting into knots. I try to go back to eating dinner, but Four's eyes are burrowing into the top of my head and I can feel my temperature rising. He's suspicious of me. He's been staring at me since Caleb told his pre-planned lie in the least convincing way possible. Poor Caleb. He looked like he might faint. I almost laughed at him but then I remembered that saving him from his own lie was in my best interests as well.

I can't taste my food and I wish Caleb and I had just stayed in the woods together. Eventually everyone would have stopped looking for us and we could have forgotten about them. He feels so far away from me now, like it never happened, like he never existed. I wish Four would stop staring at me. I want him to get up from the table and run after his stupid girlfriend and leave me here alone so I can learn to breathe and try to discourage my heart from thundering against the walls of my chest.

"Peter." Four's voice is a brick wall. "I don't know what is happening between you and Caleb, but it needs to stop. Now." I grind my teeth to keep them from chattering. _I can't breathe. "_ I hope you're taking me seriously here, Peter." _I can't fucking breathe._ I try to get up from the table. I have to get away from Four. On my way up from the table I hit my knee, hard, and my plate and silverware go flying. The skin on my face is hot and there is acid in my throat. _I can't breathe. What is happening to me?_ This isn't the way rage usually feels to me. I feel like I'm on fire with it, my stomach and my skin. The air that's coming in through my nostrils and open mouth is hot and bitter and vanishes before it ever reaches my lungs. I think I might pass out. I don't want to pass out in front of Four. I have to get this under control. I grab the edge of the table to steady myself and look at the ground. I think of Caleb's fingers running through my hair. I think of the smell of his sweat through his borrowed shirt. I think of the soft sigh he makes when I kiss him. I think of the cold, clear water in the Amity shower, and the feeling of Caleb's eyes on me. I think of the gratitude in his eyes, the forgiveness, the acceptance. I breathe.

I take another deep breath and then risk a glance at Four. He has a strange look on his face, like he's offended by the way I've behaved. That's not it though. Four's face translates emotions in a very strange way. He's worried. Concerned. Well that makes a little sense. If I felt like I was having a heart attack, I probably looked like I was having a heart attack. I take another breath, trying not to sound as desperate for air as I feel. Suddenly I remember Tris punching me in the throat and I manage a smile. "I don't know what you mean, Four." The look of worry drops from his face and is replaced with something more recognizable, anger. "Peter, this isn't a joke. Caleb is Tris's brother. She's very protective of him." I laugh. "She's barely spoken to the kid since she got his parents killed." Four stands up, fast. I hope he doesn't want to fight. If we fight right now, I'm going to get my ass kicked. I'm breathing again, in a near-regular fashion but I'm still sick to my stomach and shaky, like I haven't eaten all day.

"Peter." Brick wall again. I should learn to do that with my voice. "Pick on someone else." I shake my head and start to gather my fallen plate and silverware. "I'm not doing anything wrong." I say it, but it sounds false to me. _I'm not doing anything wrong?_ I can feel the acid rising in my throat again. I close my eyes and think of Caleb laughing, laughing to the point of tears. _I'm not doing anything wrong._ I think of kissing him, his hand on my neck and drawing me in. _I'm not doing anything wrong._ I think of slamming my fist against his jaw, knocking him to the ground, beating him with both my fists as he lay curled and defenseless. _I'm not doing anything..._

And then Four is grabbing me by the back of my neck. We're both crouched on the ground behind the table, out of sight of anyone who might see this as a violation of our terms with our peaceful hosts. Four's not an idiot. He leans in close to my ear, with his fingers gripping so hard they are painting bruises on the side of my neck. "Peter, I couldn't touch you, back in Dauntless when you messed with Tris, but things have changed now." He grips me even harder and I keep my eyes closed but I will not wince. "Let me be clear. I will not allow you to cause her _any more pain._ I will not _allow_ it." I'm impressed. I never thought that Four was as scary as everyone else did, during initiation, but I can hear it now. There is violence in his voice. Violence like there is in me, dark and unrelenting.

He releases his grip on my neck and stands. As he starts to walk away, I call out to him. I don't mean to do it. I surprise myself. "Do you ever worry that you'll hurt her?" He turns and looks at me. "Even though you care about her, that you won't be able to stop yourself?" I don't stand, I'm not sure I even can. I need an answer to this question. Is what I'm doing that wrong? Do monsters get to have beautiful things or must they stay always in the company of monsters? Can we be redeemed, made whole by other people's goodness? I wonder if Four knows. I wonder if he even knows that he's a monster. I look into his face and his eyes go hollow. He stares down at me in silence for a long moment. "Peter, we are not the same." He waits for me to take this in. "Stay away from Caleb, I will not tell you again." And then he leaves.

I pick up my dishes, and stand. I feel like my body has no substance, like I could pass through walls and other people without too much effort. I don't get to test this theory because people keep darting out of my path as I leave the dome. People always do this, everywhere I go, they get out of my way. I've always enjoyed that, but now I wonder why? Can they smell my predatory nature?

I speed up. I need to be out of here, somewhere where there aren't any people around. Somewhere quiet and dim. Maybe I'll go back to the woods, to sit and grind my knuckles into the dirt until I can empty myself out and feel numb again. And this time I won't be interrupted by a tall, beautiful, dumb stiff with a harpy for a sister.

As I'm veering off towards the woods, I see the shed where I took Caleb once. It's dark and quiet in there, and warm enough to doze off in. The door is open, and I drift in. As my eyes adjust I take in the row of rusty tools and some stacked crates filled with vegetables. I see a pile of big empty sacks in a corner and I drop down onto them, curl into myself and close my eyes. I try to conjure a clear picture of Caleb's sweet face but all I find in my mind is the dark bruise I pressed into his jaw. I touch it with my finger and it darkens, but he doesn't flinch. I lean in to kiss it and he smiles at me, but when I pull back, the bruise spreads like ink across his face. I watch as it darkens his skin, his lips, and his gentle eyes. He opens his mouth and says my name. "Peter." The bruise pours out of his open lips, wine-colored, thick as tar.

"Peter." He's saying my name again. How can he talk with purple tar dripping out of his mouth? How can he talk when his whole face is a shiny bruise? He can't talk, he's on the ground and he isn't moving. He can't talk. "Peter?" His voice sounds kind of far away. I feel his hand on my shoulder but I'm looking at him and he isn't touching me. "Peter, wake up." _Oh, I get it now._ I open my eyes, and there's Caleb. He's not laying on the ground, and his face is a normal color. Not a normal color. A Caleb color. A beautiful color. I want to pull him down onto the sacks with me and look at it up close. There's something stopping me, though. I am thinking about the way the bruise spread over his jaw, across his cheeks and his lips and into the corners of his eyes. I shouldn't be anywhere near his face. I take a breath.

"What do you want, Stiff?" I brush his hand off my shoulder and start to sit up.

"No, Peter. We're not doing that anymore."

"Sorry, what?"

"We're not going to go back and pretend that today didn't happen. I care about you. You care about me. That part is done. Okay?" He kneels down in front of me and looks me in the eyes. "We need to talk about Tris and Four."

His hand is resting on my knee. He really has no idea who I am, how much danger he is in.

"Oh we're done with that, huh? That's all taken care of?" My mind is made up, but my heart is trying to escape my chest in all directions, out of my throat or directly through my ribcage.

I stand. "Peter?" His eyes are wide, a little confused. He's not scared yet. He will be. There's this thing inside me that I have been keeping locked away. I had wished that Caleb would never see it, but I'm not lucky that way. I breathe him in, this image of him, his eyes fixed on me, without fear or judgement, for one last second. I hold it in my mind, and then I empty my mind, my self of everything but the rage. I feel the hot, sticky adrenaline flooding through me. My heart is pounding. My mind is ice. I wrap my hand around Caleb's throat and stand, pushing him in front of me. I slam him against the wall. _We've been here before._ I reach behind me and find the rack of rusty hatchets and spades and grab the nearest, sharpest thing. I show it to him, a smile on my face.

"You honestly think this happened because I care about you?" I think I'm doing a good job keeping the tremor out of my voice. "This happened because I enjoy causing pain to your stupid sister, and I thought going after her brother was an exciting new way to achieve that." I trace the sharp edge of the spade along his exposed collarbone. I do not think about how much I would rather be tracing that ridge with my fingers, or my tongue. I do not think about the smell of his skin, or the softness of his lips, or the sound of the little breath he releases when I kiss him. _Kissed him. That's in the past now. It has to be in the past._

"It's okay, Peter." His voice doesn't tremble at all. It's cool like sunlight through new leaves. I raise the spade and point the tip at his eye. "Peter, it's okay." He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even blink. His breathing is even, his muscles relaxed. I can feel his elevated pulse under the arm I use to pin him to the wall. "Peter, it's okay."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" I scream. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"I trust you." he says simply. "Peter."

The spade tumbles out of my hand to the ground and just for a second, I see his lower lip tremble. I don't know what to do now. He's staring at me and I wish I was on fire. I wish I was burning from the outside instead of from within. I manage to choke out one word before I collapse to the dirt floor of the shed. "Caleb." and then I'm on my knees, trying to breathe in between gagging and coughing. _What is happening to me? What am I becoming?_


End file.
